Two Sides of a Forbidden Coin
by Charis77
Summary: They both have it. They both hide it. And they can never tell anyone. Can they? (A "What if?" character study one shot)


He didn't remember the first time it happened, but he could never forget the terror of his first lecture over it. The timing of it had been mundane, a cold night, alone with his nurse, four years old. His eyes glowed and ethereal flames erupted in the fireplace. His nurse gasped, then grasped his shoulders, and forgetting herself in her fear for him, shook him.

"Did you just do that?" she demanded, emerald shards shooting from her eyes piercing him. No verbal answer could he muster, only a weak nod as he tremored in response to the woman who had never been anything but gentle. Then he burst into tears.

His nurse gathered him in her arms, tightening him into her chest, and her shaking mirrored his. When he calmed, she cupped his cheeks and spoke more sternly than ever he'd heard. "You must _never_ do that again. You must _never_ show anyone. Your father would kill you."

His father. The king he rarely saw except now and then to be quizzed and analyzed, evaluated on his progress in studies and swordsmanship. He was young, but even he somehow sensed he must keep his mouth shut around his father, speaking only when spoken to, just as the servants and even the nobles. Perhaps it was such fear that also kept his magic hidden.

For magic it was.

* * *

He didn't remember the first time it happened, but his mother often recounted the first instance it garnered her attention. She liked to narrate the story at night, when the hearth burned low, and he conjured mystical creatures out of the embers—phoenixes, unicorns, dragons. She marveled and awed, and then she reminded him to keep such things between them.

The first time, she described, he'd been in his cradle. She'd been rocking him, but hunger drove her to leave his side to prepare a meal. Hearing his cooing, she'd turned from the counter to smile on him, and started at the cradle rhythmically swaying back and forth. Superstitions of ghostly beings haunting the living froze her for a moment. She stepped to the cradle after seconds, protective of her infant despite her fear and beheld his eyes gleaming.

He giggled when she related the story, childishly pleased he'd given her a fright. But the story always ended the same way, a resigned cage locking it away. She couldn't share his story with anyone else, a hidden secret between them that if let out for even a brief moment could kill them both. Even in their remote part of the world, magic had no place.

For magic it was.

* * *

Where had it come from, he wondered as he grew, the electric impulse that made him so much more than others. He'd become adept at keeping it locked away unless he needed it. As a child, he'd done his best to follow his nurse's instructions, but time and daring drove caution from him. He began to employ it in subtle ways, a push here, a pull there, increasing his prowess in any art.

At times, guilt chastised him for the cheat he must be. But he'd argue with the sensation—didn't all knights use every skill to their advantage? What fairness was it for him to subdue his greatest asset? So he taught himself to seize opportune moments and how to do so with none the wiser.

He excelled and earned praise from men, most vitally, from his father. And yet, those hardened eyes, if for a second enlightened would end his existence. For he stood on the balcony more these days, pyres raging below him, victims choking on dying screams, and he felt the flames as if they licked his own flesh.

* * *

Where had it come from, he wondered as he grew, since his mother didn't possess it. He guessed the father she refused to discuss. Still, he perceived the love beneath the pain when he asked and she brushed him off. His father had been a good man, even if tainted.

Tainted—the politer way the villagers put it. Depraved wickedness the bolder claimed. But either way, they fell to indicting it whenever life didn't go their way—an insect ravaged crop, a fall from a roof, an unnaturally wet season. Most of their accusations were harmless, jibes at something intangible to explain their misfortunes. But each curse made a dent in his soul.

He didn't use it much. Juvenile stories and creature creations had given way to harsh truths and continual scares. To be discovered would destroy not only him, but his mother as well. So the electric impulse throbbed and rarely found release. And he sunk into darkness, losing himself day by day.

* * *

A feast, a witch's vengeance, and a new manservant. What had he done to deserve it but be saved against his will. He should be grateful, but the constant shadow fulfilling his every need grated on his nerves. A prattler, the boy now servicing him, and despite his frustrations, one he rather enjoyed listening to. If only his presence didn't restrict him so much.

His previous servant had been a mouse, compliant, obedient, and prone to flee rather than hang around. So much the better, affording him the time to practice alone, let the flow of his deepest and best skill come alive in his solitude.

But this servant, he's a faithful dog. All right, yes, some of it is endearing, and it's tempting to let him come closer. If circumstances had been different, maybe they could have even been friends, but he can't stop being vigilant for a moment. If the boy ever sees, ever suspects, his life is forfeit.

* * *

A feast, a witch's vengeance, and an act of destiny. Or so the beast that dwells below the castle and the physician who's taken him in contend. His mother sent him here, to Camelot. At first, he'd fought her desire. Why a place where his very nature is anathema? To learn, she argues, to be more than I can let you.

The physician it seems was her intent, a man with experience exceeding her own who can guide him in the use and concealment of his gift. Still, he intends to keep it ever imprisoned, but then a meeting with a dragon, a witch's retribution, and his own natural instinct result in his saving a prince and becoming his servant.

It's laughable, and scary, and begrudgingly sometimes fun. And as his lists of service grow longer, he chances uses of what he'd cut off, until he's unashamedly exploiting it to protect the prince, his destiny. Even if the youth only a couple years older is aloof and abrupt and unkind. No "thanks," no "good jobs," just work and do and save him behind his back.

* * *

How could a hunt go so wrong? His manservant, that's how, or at least, that's who he automatically blames in the split second he can think. He was only supposed to flush out the prey, not follow it! How could he be so stupid?

It's instinct and reaction on his part. The unicorn comes bounding into the clearing and the bolt fires, even though his manservant is leaping in front of it, shouting something he doesn't hear. He inwardly curses the boy for his foolishness, and then his eyes burn.

The bolt stops at the mid-point between them. The unicorn is already dashing away. The crossbow has dropped to the forest floor, and he's holding out his hand. And he knows he's done for.

* * *

How could a hunt go so wrong? The prince, that's how, or at least, that's who he automatically blames in the split second he can think. A man as trained as he should know to stay his weapon until he assesses the situation! How could he be so stupid?

It's desperation and panic on his part. When commanded to sneak into the brush and frighten the prey out into the open, he grouses, but does as he's been ordered, until he beholds the magnificent white creature and its glittering horn. He means to shoo it away, but the spooked creature skitters towards the prince and his crossbow. He sprints, instinctively casting himself in front of it to prevent what must be a criminal act.

He waves his hands and cries out, but the bolt has already fired. A golden flash obscures his vision. He hardly hears the unicorn fleeing behind him as the bolt hovers midway between him and the prince. His arm is outstretched, the obvious source of the miraculous event. And he knows he's done for.

* * *

For several seconds, they maintain their stances, only vaguely aware of the opposing forces acting on the bolt, two equal powers holding it mid-air, jarred by the revealing color in both their eyes now just fading. As if in agreement, they lower their hands at the same moment, and the bolt slips to the ground.

"You?" the manservant speaks first.

"You?" the prince echoes second.

"When? How? Why?" from both.

"Born with it."

"Born with it."

They stare and stare, then grin, and words come tumbling out, confessions they hadn't dared confide in anyone else.

They talk late into the night, shoulder to shoulder against a tree, sharing stories of the magic they'd hidden for so long, laughing in relief to be known and understood. The fire dims, they grow weary, and let their heads nod, the servant's resting on his prince's shoulder, the prince's leaning into the bark.

They awaken to morning and a knights' patrol that has stumbled upon them. They join it, each mounting a horse, but as they ride away from the scene of their discovery, their reflected blue eyes seek out one another, and the joy shining in both sets shouts the same: I am no longer alone.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This little character study is one that wouldn't leave me after I saw a post that speculated what it would be like if Arthur and Merlin both had magic. The post was more humorous, but I just couldn't get the idea out of my head until I wrote _something_ about it.


End file.
